Someday We'll Know
by eleventhirty
Summary: Set before the events of MP 1. Vinnie and Lisa share a cup of hot chocolate.


Title: Someday We'll Know

Author: eleventhirty

Paring: One-sided Vinnie Gognitti/Lisa Punchinello

Rating: M (pretty much only for language)

Disclaimer: I don't own the Max Payne universe and never will.

Summary: Set before the events of MP 1. (My timeline may be a little off so bear with me) Vinnie and Lisa share a cup of hot chocolate.

Vinnie's POV

"I don't give a shit. Boss is busy; you gotta wait your turn. Christ Gognitti...isn't this the type of thing they were supposed to teach you in kindergarten?"

"Yeah, well fuck you _and_ your moth'a!" But I needn't have wasted my time. Arguing with Joe was like hurling insults at a brick wall. I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling the beginnings of a headache pound beneath my temples. "I'm sure as shit not haulin' ass all the way back here tonight."

Joe chuckles. "Like I'm supposed to believe you got anythin' going on in that pathetic mess you call your life." This motherfucker'd better count his lucky stars. If my headache was only slightly less annoying, I'd bash the smug grin right off his stupid face. "Why don't you, like go out for a beer or something? You're not as annoying when you're drunk."

"Like I'm going to waste money because Punchinello can't tell time." I glare past him at the door to the boss' office trying to will it open. No such luck. "I'm fuckin' sick of lookin' at ya, so I'm going to go raid the kitchen. I trust you know where that is, you fat fuck." I'm sure that Joe fired back at me with something that he considered to be a witty retort, but I'd already tuned him out. It wasn't even like my business with the Boss was that important...the man didn't trust me as far as he could throw me so once a month, he had to pour over my books. Make sure I know how to do shit like add, subtract, and carry my ones. What a cocky prick. Everyone...every goddamn greaseball, wanna-be gangsta knew that *I* was the brains of the Punchinello Family. The Don had the cash. And Lupino...he was the shit-your-pants scary muscle.

Just thinking about him made me shudder.

Which was nothin' that a cold one and maybe some snacks couldn't fix.

I loved my penthouse. More than anything else. (except maybe my Jag) But even I turned into a fuckin' green eyed monster when I was in the boss' house. It was just perfect. The décor. The furniture. The motha'fuckin paintings imported from the old country. Typically, I couldn't give two shits about that faggy stuff, but Punchinello's place...I wanted to spend the rest of my life there. It was the closest thing to a home I've ever seen.

And it was all because of Lisa.

Fuck. Stop it Gognitti. Just thinkin' about her was enough for the boss to justifiably blow my brains out. You don't mess with Family member's wives. Sisters, sure. Girlfriends or mistresses, fuck yeah. But these old school dagos like Punchinello would split your head like a watermelon just for thinking about it. And think about it I did. Way too fuckin' much. She consumed me. Lisa was a beautiful woman sure, but I've banged thousands of 'em, and I sure as shit wouldn't risk my life for something as fleeting as a pretty face and a hot ass. No, Lisa was innocent, and I don't throw that word around lightly. She didn't deserve to be dragged down to this world of shit and excess that the rest of us reveled in. Lisa was an angel. And her husband was damn sure trying to slice off her wings to keep her stranded on earth with the rest of us sinners.

Made me fuckin' sick.

If she was mine...God I don't even deserve to dream about somethin' so wonderful. It makes me feel dirty just thinkin' about it. I want to free her. To take her from the hellhole that is New York and just keep driving. Maybe settle down in a suburb somewhere, in a house with white siding and blue shutters, and maybe a dog named Baxter. Have a kid or two, if I can somehow come to terms with violating something so pure. She'd be my redemption.

"Hi Vinnie."

And apparently my company for the evening.

"H...Hey you." My hand shaking, I take off my sunglasses and stick them in my vest pocket. God, she's even more beautiful than I remembered. Lisa's sitting at the kitchen table, clutching a mug with a sleepy cartoon cloud on it. She's wearing a plush bathrobe with kittens on it, and as she brings the mug to her lips the sleeve falls down, revealing a rainbow of bruises on her wrist.

I want to puke.

"You waiting to see Angelo?"

I nod, unable to tear my eyes away from her wounded wrist. I'm sure as shit not a saint. I've given a black eye or split lip to a hooker many a time, but only when the broad deserved it. How the fuck Punchinello could cause this beautiful creature any sort of pain is beyond me. Lisa sure as shit doesn't mouth off. Or sleep around. Or any of the bullshit that women do that drives me fuckin' batty. I want to protect her.

She doesn't even see me.

"Join me?" Lisa smiles, although it doesn't come close to reaching her eyes. They're so goddamn sad, I want to break down just looking at 'em.

So I don't.

"You sure?" I stare at my reflection in the stainless steel fridge. "It's late. I don't want to keep you up."

Lisa looks briefly terrified, as if my leaving her alone to her thoughts would be something akin to cruel and unusual punishment. "I can't sleep...at least not until I talk to Angelo." She seems so lost, and I hate myself for causing her one iota of pain.

What else can I do?

"All right." I glance down at her mug. "Got any more of that coffee?"

"It's hot chocolate."

Of course it is. My angel wouldn't drink anything as harsh as coffee. I don't know why, but seeing her sitting alone in the kitchen with her hair askew in her oversized robe while drinking hot chocolate and waiting to sleep next to the man that hurts her makes me tear up. I clear my throat, trying my damndest to push the tears back back to the dark corners of my psyche to haunt me later.

Lisa's smile is sweet and genuine. "There's more water in the kettle if you'd like a cup."

"I assume you got the kind with marshmallows."

"Is there any other?"

Can't argue with that logic.

I go about fixing myself a cup of hot chocolate, all the while wearing a stupid grin that I just can't figure out. Fuck, the last time I had hot chocolate I was just a little kid in Brooklyn sitting at my Grandma's counter and listening to the portable radio for news on whether or not school was closed due to excessive snow. My Grandma. She was the only person that ever truly loved me, God rest her soul. I'm sure she hates what I've become. But why should I be the only one that does?

I'm clutching my cocoa, as if for dear life, trying to pull my swarm of racing thoughts into something coherent. I'm not much for small talk...not beyond "how ya' doin'?", "fuck you," or something along those lines. Fuck, I just want to be there for Lisa...to give her the companionship she so desperately needs but I've never experienced. I'd do anything for her. Which almost makes me laugh, since I know nothing about her, beyond the fact that she's got a twin sister and is married to a man that treats her like shit. I just wish I knew anything that she liked...even something as trivial as her favorite movie or even just her favorite food.

Not like these details would change the way I feel about her.

She takes a sip of her hot chocolate, her eyes never leaving mine. "How have you been Vinnie? I don't get to see much of you anymore."

I shrug, although my heart breaks just a little. "Been busy. Lots 'a shit goin' down, but nothin' you need to worry about." Beneath the harsh halogen light of the kitchen, the makeup she's slathered on beneath her eye begins to crack and peel. More bruises. I want to simultaneously throw up and shoot Punchinello in the back of the head. I can barely force the words past the lump in my throat. "How's life treatin' you Lisa?"

She smiles serenely. "I've never been better. Check this out." She hands me a small square of glossy paper with a black and white image on it. It's so alien...this tiny creature with no distinguishing features.

It's a sonogram. Of a baby. *His* baby. Oh fuck.

I want to scream and break things, but I take the picture and force a smile to my lips. "Congratulations," I mutter, feeling my hand begin to shake. "I think the kid has your nose."

Her laugh is like music. "It's only eight weeks old. It doesn't have a nose yet."

Eight weeks. Those bruises adorning her pale skin are sure as shit much less than eight weeks old.

"Well here's hoping it looks like you." I hand her back the photo, trying to keep my voice from cracking. "You must be so excited."

"I am. I've always wanted children. I wish I could say the same thing about Angelo." She absently rubs her wrist. "I'm sure he'll come around though."

"Sure he will," I mutter. The lie burns like acid against my tongue, and nothing can soothe it. "It...it'll be fine Lisa. It has to be."

"Promise?" Lisa peers up at me through damp eyelashes. Fuck, she sounds like a child.

"Yeah. Promise."

Her smile is the sun. God help me, I've just damned myself to hell.


End file.
